


pyroclastic flow

by LegitimizedGangsterIdiots



Category: Sonic the Hedgehog (2020), Sonic the Hedgehog - All Media Types
Genre: First Meeting, Gen, Gen or Pre-Slash, Slow Burn, Slow Romance, Stone is immediately in awe of Robotnik, backhanded compliments, rating may increase in later chapters, robotnik can only be impressed with a good latte, so tags will be updated accordingly, the ultimate aim of this story is still unknown to me
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-04
Updated: 2020-07-23
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:00:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23017420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LegitimizedGangsterIdiots/pseuds/LegitimizedGangsterIdiots
Summary: Dr. Robotnik had entered Stone’s life like a volcanic explosion.
Relationships: Dr. Eggman | Dr. Robotnik/Agent Stone, eventual - Relationship
Comments: 43
Kudos: 158





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to my peeps on the Stobotnik discord who read this over and gave me the confidence to post it!
> 
> I am notoriously bad at keeping up with multi-chapter fics, but! I'm going to give it another shot with this one. This pairing is giving me the type of inspiration I haven't had in years.

Dr. Robotnik could be compared to a volcanic explosion. His arrogance and ire burned on contact, and no one could survive a conversation with him unsinged. Yet his cleverness and intellect were a source of constant creation, and his apparent destructive nature always left behind rich islands of scientific discovery and progress. 

Stone had heard about the doctor long before he had the chance to meet him. Gossip flourished in the academy. All the most notorious personalities in the government were either praised, lambasted, or both on a regular basis by the trainees. The first time he heard a rumor of the doctor, it felt more like a myth, or at least a legend. The description was almost laughably unbelievable. A beanpole of a man with five doctorates who was most well known for freely and maliciously criticizing every person he met, regardless of rank? Sounded like a tall tale, perhaps a bit of wishful thinking dreamed up by a trainee who wished they could give their sergeant a piece of their mind. After all, rumor had it that he had once told the director of the CIA that he was like a particularly stupid fifth grader who believed he would impress the rest of the class by burping the alphabet extremely fast. And the doctor’s not dead? Stone didn’t think so.

Yet, even his teachers maintained that the rumors were true. If asked about the doctor, his special operations professor would groan loudly and insist that he was not in the mood to talk about Robotnik, please and thank you. How could one man generate this level of dislike and keep his position? Surely there was someone who was as smart as this Robotnik and not so rude.

But there wasn’t. Stone met the doctor at a conference, shortly after his graduation. Or, more accurately, Stone watched with wide eyes as the famed Dr. Robotnik reduced a commander to tears for some incomprehensible transgression. Spouting off one final insult, the doctor turned his flaming eyes to Stone. It felt as though his gaze were piercing him to the spot, like an insect to a board, a specimen under examination. “You! Pick your jaw off the floor and come with me.” He stormed off, leaving Stone to scramble after him. Why he followed him, Stone didn’t know. It felt required. 

It felt natural.

Robotnik came to a stop by the drink table, ignoring the incensed murmurs coming from the other side of the room, and the sulking glare of the commander. The table was filled with a variety of drinks. Soda cans sat beside the hot water pot, with a lovely variety of teas arrayed beside it. Then, there was the ice water dispenser and the two massive pots of hot coffee, flanked by various milks and sugars. Dr. Robotnik flicked his finger at Stone. “Make me a latte. Don’t screw it up.” With a flourish, Robotnik crossed his arms and began tapping his foot impatiently. Stone looked from the coffee to the doctor. What did he take in his coffee, is what he wanted to ask. But his tongue felt heavy, his heartbeat like a frightened jackrabbit, and the doctor looked so imposing in that moment that Stone just couldn’t get the words out of his mouth.

Frantically, he tried to size the doctor up. How would a man like this want his coffee? The drama of his every movement, the mustache that seemed like it had been frozen like that since 1861, the way he vibrated with energy, and the overwhelming sense of genius that radiated from him. … Milk with no sugar? Seemed likely enough.

With slightly shaking hands, Stone picked up a mug and filled it halfway with coffee, not daring to glance over at the doctor. From there, he surveyed the frankly ridiculous amount of milk varieties sitting to the left of the coffee pots. Whole milk, half and half, soy, coconut, almond. None of it sounded right. The sleek black of the doctor’s clothes suggested a fancy taste, and these were all just so bland in comparison. Stone began to reach for the half and half, resigning himself to the doctor’s disappointment, when a smaller container hiding behind the whole milk caught his eye. Austrian goat milk. Good god, that was perfect. An Austrian goat milk latte. He couldn’t think of anything that sounded more cerebral and arrogant. If the doctor didn’t like this, then he must just not like anything. He picked up the delicate glass container and carefully poured it in. More confident now, he picked up a small shaker of nutmeg and added a single dash to the latte for good luck.

Picking up the finished product, he turned back to the doctor, who had turned away to scan his eyes, heavy with disdain, over the crowded room. “Your coffee, sir.” 

Robotnik looked at him, flicking his gaze down to the coffee and back to his face, raising an eyebrow. “You added milk, so technically, that’s a latte. Your lack of correct terminology is not inspiring confidence.” Despite this, Robotnik took the drink anyway, his fingers brushing against Stone’s as he pulled the mug from his grasp. He spun away from Stone, his long black coat whipping through the air between them. He was already several meters away when the mug finally reached his mouth and he took a sip. The doctor stopped short. Stone held his breath. He had just finished mentally preparing himself to be castigated when Robotnik finally turned around, eyes wide. “It’s…” 

He took another sip and lightning flashed in his eyes. Stone once again felt pierced, like Robotnik was deconstructing him to find out what made him tick. Stone prepared for imminent death.

“It’s surprisingly adequate.” Robotnik said, an unhappy tone masking his apparent surprise and enjoyment of Stone’s concoction. He liked it? He’d never seen a man look so angry that he liked something. But there was also a newfound interest in Robotnik’s eyes, like Stone had somehow proved his worth, to some minute degree, by being capable enough to create a drinkable latte. Robotnik stood there only for one more moment before he stalked away again. In just a moment, he was gone, the crowd swallowing him up as if he had never been there. A legend indeed.

Stone expected to never see him again. Or, perhaps he would, at future conferences, if anyone had the courage to invite the doctor again, but always from a distance, never close enough to speak. As if Robotnik would ever descend from his heights to speak with him, or even to yell at him. Good god, to be the focus of one of his tirades, the center of his attention. To receive another hidden compliment for his work. Stone would be the first to admit that Robotnik had perhaps made too much of an impression on him. Nothing would come of it. Robotnik was somewhere far above him, and Stone was down here on the ground, and if he could tell one thing about the guy from the two minutes that he’d been in his presence, Robotnik was not the type of man to look down.

So, when the notice of immediate transfer arrived in his mailbox the next week, Stone was floored. It was a promotion of immense proportions. The notice was not a request. It was an order. Naturally. He would go from a low-level agent in the Pentagon to Robotnik’s head agent. His right-hand man, his assistant. God only knew what level of clearance Robotnik had. God only knew was getting himself into. But then he remembered the doctor’s flashing eyes and biting tongue, and how the heat from his ire had burned and intrigued him in equal measure. The notice was an order, not a request. Stone would follow him this time, too.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the working title for this chapter was "armor"

In both his personal and professional life, Robotnik managed to be a complete enigma, somehow cloaking every possible expression of emotion in a tempest of anger and condescension. Every insult was perfectly crafted, sharp enough to be a knife. Even compliments, of which there were few, were spoken so tersely that they seemed more like insults. The doctor had cloaked himself in daggers, and every attempt to interact with him left one feeling stabbed, sometimes in multiple places.

Stone's first several weeks of employment did not go smoothly. The doctor was difficult, to put it lightly. His mind seemed to fly from one topic to the next with no connecting thread, brilliant but obscure, so that Stone was frequently left in the dust. 

Stone had no choice but to adapt quickly to Robotnik's demanding, and sometimes ridiculous, standards. His first day, Monday, he was yelled at a total of twenty-three times. By the end of that week, Robotnik only blew up at him once in one day. Some people would call that being good at his job. He called it self-preservation.

Mental notes began to multiply: Don’t question the doctor’s conclusions. Suggest a preferred conclusion, and if the doctor liked it better, he would snatch it up as if it had always been his own. Don’t announce himself when he enters the lab. Once the doctor questioningly calls out his name, then it’s a good time to respond. After all, no one else would be entering the lab but Robotnik and himself. Robotnik had banned everyone else.

Eliot down on the third floor had mentioned to him that none of the other head assistants had been allowed in the lab until him. “Must be something about you.” Eliot had tilted his head and looked at him funny. Stone told him to go back to work.

But Eliot’s comment lingered in the back of his mind. Was there something different about him? As much as he tried to ignore it, he desperately wanted the doctor to respect him. Every time Robotnik glanced at him, disdain radiated from his entire body. More than anything, he wanted a moment, just one moment, when the doctor would look at him and Stone would see warmth reflected back at him. He wanted to prove himself, prove that he was clever, prove that his opinion was worth just a second of the doctor’s time. Stone wanted Robotnik, the man who liked no one, to like him.

Disappointment was his constant companion.

The work itself was high-level. Drone tech research and production. Stone had no formal training in robotics, but thankfully it didn't much seem to matter. Day-to-day work consisted of translating Robotnik’s orders to the others that worked in the division. Stone stood at his side most of the day, often lingering behind as he swept off to something else, clarifying whatever verbal vomit Robotnik had spewed this time. 

From one incident: “No, I know the doctor told you to stop everything and toss those hideous shoes in the trash, but that’s actually not what he considers top priority at the moment.” 

To the next: “Please continue work on the construction of Badniks, not on the creation of a world where you’re not so stupid.” 

To the downright ridiculous: “As the doctor said, the aesthetic of the design does need a little improvement. … Yes, I know he said that they looked about as appealing as week-old shredded vegetables in a strainer, but they truly just need a small tweak. Lose the green color, and I recommend making them more egg-shaped."

The doctor made everything egg-shaped.

The nature of his job did not particularly enamor him to his co-workers. But considering that their alternative was reporting to Robotnik directly, he quickly found that he was the first one to know about any issues any employee was having. Which also meant that he was the one who had to tell Robotnik.

Stone learned to wear armor in the doctor's presence. He forged himself chainmail out of a positive attitude, a poker face, and a fairly constant stream of Austrian goat milk lattes. Three weeks in, he found a full espresso bar on the second floor of Robotnik's skyscraper. The obscure tech branch of the government that Robotnik was connected to had furnished him with an entire building to himself and those who implemented his research, possibly just to keep him away from everyone else. The vast majority of the building was made up of production and research labs, with the top two floors being restricted access to only Robotnik and Stone. That day, after striking the fear of God into the employees in the computer chip production room on the second floor, Robotnik had swept off toward the elevator, too fast for Stone to keep up. 

Unfortunately, Stone was not yet familiar with the layout of the second floor and quickly found himself lost in the endless white hallways. He took to peering into the rooms he passed, surprised at the diversity of their functions. A gym room that looked more decked out in workout equipment than a Planet Fitness, a room full of mannequins that was both incredibly creepy and confusing, and finally, a room that looked like a barista's wet dream. He stood in awe in the doorway. His eyes trailed over a bar full of coffee makers and a fully stocked shelf of ingredients that stretched from wall to wall. Four espresso machines, steamers, a vast variety of syrups and milks, and a frappuccino machine. The smell of coffee was almost overwhelming. His eyes lit up. He might get yelled at for not following the doctor to his lab as quickly as possible, but he had an amazing idea. 

He walked over to the chrome-plated refrigerator, and opened it to the sight of neatly organized milk cartons. Thankfully, the government did not slack off on their fancy milk choices. Near the back was a small container of Austrian goat milk. As he pulled it out, Stone made a mental note to buy more. Summoning all of his memory from when he worked as a barista for two months the summer after high school, Stone began to craft the most ambitious latte he'd made yet. Pulling three espresso shots. Steaming the Austrian goat milk. One pump of cinnamon syrup. A dash of nutmeg. 

Three disastrous attempts and two delicious successes later, Stone walked out of the elevator on the top floor clutching two lattes, one for himself and one for the doctor. 

He took a fortifying breath before pushing through the door to the lab. Badnik parts and tools were scattered over a table to his right and to the far left were several blueprints, two haphazardly pinned to the wall and the rest spread out on the desk below. Directly in front of him, Robotnik was typing something onto his monitor, the back of his head facing Stone. Immediately upon his entry, the doctor's back stiffened, and Stone braced himself. After one last resounding clack on the keyboard, Robotnik spun his chair around to face him, a look of supreme annoyance etched on his face.

“Stone!” Robotnik launched himself out of his chair, rocketing across the room into Stone’s personal space. “Let me ask you a question, and please, put all of your limited brain power into the answer. Are you asking to be fired?” 

Stone nervously averted his eyes from Robotnik’s intense gaze, shifting his grip on the lattes. “No, sir. I don’t believe I am.”

Robotnik let out a huff. “You don’t _believe_ you are. Well, I don’t _believe_ that you’ve been wasting my time for thirty minutes. Thirty minutes, agent! It may be incomprehensible to you, but my time is actually important, and the wasting of it could have life or death consequences! Even an imbecile like yourself should be able to find the elevator in less than five minutes. Or do I have to hold your hand like a child in a grocery store?”

“I apologize, sir, but I was-”

“I don’t need or care about your apologies, Agent,” Robotnik leaned forward enough for his shirt to brush against Stone’s hands, which were still clutched around the lattes. “Just never do it again,” he hissed. After a moment of threatening silence, he backed off and turned back toward the computer monitor.

After taking a second to find his voice, Stone lifted his head back up and did his best not to glare at the back of the doctor’s head. “I found a full espresso bar, sir. I made you this latte.” He held out the cup, which still had steam rising from the hole in the lid.

Robotnik stiffened, as though holding back from another tirade, before turning slowly back to face him. “Oh, you did, did you? And you think that this humble offering is going to make up for the precious time I could have saved by having you readily available for the monotonous parts of my job that I’m too important to spend time on? Laughable, Agent Stone!” He swiped the cup out of Stone’s hand and took a fortifying sip. He opened his mouth to continue his diatribe, but immediately snapped it shut again. Robotnik’s eyes widened comically, and for a good ten seconds they simply stared at each other, Stone desperately trying to hide his growing panic.

“Stone.”

“Yes, doctor?” He hoped his voice didn’t really sound as shaky as it seemed.

The doctor’s jaw worked as though attempting to force his next words out. “This- I-” He stopped again and frowned, lines of disapproval carving out trenches around his mouth. Stone’s heart dropped into his stomach. The doctor straightened up. “Stone, you are to make me one of these every morning,” he began haughtily. Stone barely caught his own jaw before it dropped. “And every time I ask for a latte, you go make it down on the second floor. I will accept nothing less, do you understand?” 

Stone felt like dancing. “Y-yes, doctor! Crystal clear!”

“It better be. Now get back to work, you idiot.”

From then on, the lattes helped to placate his boss's ire, and Stone’s carefully constructed positive attitude and poker face continued to assist him in making it through the day without breaking down. God, but the doctor could be mean. Stone's armor could only hold for so long.

Sometimes Stone would find himself questioning his own worth after a workday full of the doctor's belittling comments. Sure, he had pictured himself as the subject of one of the doctor's tirades before his promotion, but being at the center of one almost constantly was not the best for his mental health. He began to have a routine. At the end of the day, Stone would unlock the door to his apartment, drop his bags right inside the door, and go stare at his reflection in the bathroom mirror. Hours of the doctor's snide comments would ring in his head while he quietly murmured to himself that he wasn't actually that stupid. He may not be a genius like Robotnik, but he had a doctorate of his own, and he had done pretty well in school. And at least he wasn't an absolute jerk.

Stone would then run his hands over his face in despair. He didn't want to think of his boss as a jerk, but the doctor wasn't really giving him anything to work with. He was arrogant and full of hot air. He bulldozed those who tried to work with him, and every second in his presence was the equivalent of asking to be suckerpucked by his sharp tongue. Stone couldn't stand him.

But at the same time, Stone couldn't hate him either. There were moments, when Robotnik was peering intently at an experiment, or taking a sip of one of Stone’s lattes, or standing on the balcony outside his office just breathing in the fresh air. Stone would watch him just behind the glass, holding his breath, knowing that the moment Robotnik turned around, the moment would be over, and he would be vicious once again. Stone relished those moments of silence.

The moments of outrageous action were far more routine. They almost- almost- became normal. Stone learned to expect them, learned the signs that an explosion was imminent. But he had not yet learned to be used to them.

Just another exciting day at work. That morning he had soothed five rankled top officials who had accidentally said hello to the doctor as he passed, made one absolutely incredible latte, and created seventeen versions of a liability waiver for one of Robotnik's upcoming experiments, which unfortunately required several volunteers. The experiment itself was not that dangerous. The liability waiver made sure that they couldn't sue Robotnik for whatever trouble his trash mouth would create.

Now it was the afternoon, and Stone finally had a moment to sit down in one of the office's sleek, ergonomic chairs, and glance through the results of one of the latest Badniks, a nickname for the robots that Robotnik seemed surprisingly defensive of. The first time Stone had heard the name, he had repeated it aloud, a laugh in his voice and a slight smile on his face. A grave mistake. 

The hour-long tirade that followed actually stopped being terrifying about halfway through, as Stone began to worry more about the doctor not having appeared to breathe for the entirety of his fit. Even while being yelled at, Stone was still impressed that during the span of the hour, Robotnik hadn't once repeated an insult in the exact same way. It was always something. He just couldn't hate the man. He was too eccentric, too far removed. When Robotnik became irate with him, it was like the sun being angry at Pluto. The heat from his anger was beyond comprehension, but Stone was just too far away to feel the warmth. Perhaps that was why when he stared at the mirror at the end of the day, he just felt cold.

"Stone!”

Stone jumped at the surprising proximity of Robotnik’s voice, nearly dropping the tablet he was reading. Some agent he was, he didn’t even hear the doctor enter the room. He put the tablet down and turned to face Robotnik, who was storming into the room like a bat out of hell with his favorite black coat whipping in the air behind him.

“Stone, there you are. Stop messing around with those results and get over here.” As Stone did so, setting the tablet down carefully, Robotnik continued, “That experiment was a dud anyway. I told that imbecilic general that laser-based distance hacking was a stupid and redundant idea considering the complexity of the build and the quality of the tech we’ve already made for hacking, but he just wouldn’t listen! So when the Treasury Department complains to us about the massive amount of capital sunk into the failed tech, we both know whose head is going to roll, and it won’t be mine!”

There was a pause where Stone knew he was meant to chime in agreement. “Of course, sir.”

“Of course!” Robotnik repeated triumphantly. “It’ll be General What’s-His-Name, and I can’t wait to watch him burn, Agent Stone. Now! Back to the matter at hand.” Robotnik sat dramatically in his rolling chair, using his feet to launch himself toward his main monitor. Stone followed him to that side of the lab. “Listen up. You’ve worked here for two days-”

“Five weeks.”

“And you haven’t completely screwed up yet. I suppose that means you’re ready to get in on what I _really_ do around here. Let me guess! You’re thinking, goodness, how could he possibly do any more than what he already does? And yes, I know, my robots are the most amazing invention the world has ever seen. How could I possibly top that? Well, let me tell you.” Robotnik whipped his rolling chair around to face the screen and clicked on several things in quick succession. He kicked himself out from the desk, his chair skidding back several feet as he extended his arms and legs out energetically. “Behold, Stone! The most secret operations of the U.S. Government!”

On the screen was a satellite map of the world with several colorful dots scattered across it, the most concerning of which were large and red and blinking rapidly. Fascinated, Stone moved closer to the monitor, only to be blocked suddenly by Robotnik who tutted at him.

“Now Stone, I can’t let you interact with this top-secret map just like that! Obviously you have to sign this first,” Robotnik shoved a tablet at him and crossed his arms expectantly. 

Stone squinted down at the fine print that covered the majority of the screen, trying to read it. The phrases he did catch, such as “in event of death,” “under threat of bodily harm,” “in case of loss of life or limb,” and “no federal accountability,” were not particularly reassuring.

“Well? Do you want top level security access or not?” Robotnik raised his finger and swooped his head to the side, making that little zeep-zoop noise he sometimes used for added gravitas. In a voice like the one that reads out all the potential life-threatening side-effects of a drug in pharmaceutical commercials, he continued, “An aside: If you do not want top level security access, your current services will no longer be needed in any capacity and you will be forced to vacate the premises immediately. Stone?”

“I sign this or I’m fired?” Stone paraphrased.

“Too true. So?” Robotnik looked at him expectantly. Stone stared back at him for a long moment. Underneath Robotnik’s carefree demeanor, Stone noticed something interesting. The doctor’s finger was tapping against his thigh, which could be from impatience, but almost seemed nervous. Even his sneer felt fake, like it was plastered over another, more dangerous expression. Dangerous for the doctor at least, who believed any outward expression of weakness was beneath him. He met the doctor’s narrowed eyes again, and wondered if he was imagining the hint of worry that he saw there.

He could just be imagining it. The doctor didn’t need anyone. He made that clear on a regular basis. Stone thought back to his evenings spent staring in his bathroom mirror, the ache of his heart after long days of working with this man. Working with Robotnik was hell. He could set this tablet down and walk away, here and now. Close the door on this insanity, go back to the world he’d known before the doctor had blasted his way into it. He’d never have to lie awake again, eyes searching the dark ceiling, hoping that maybe one day, Robotnik would notice that he was worth something. He could be free of this. 

Stone looked at the doctor, and Robotnik looked back at him. There was _something_ in his eyes.

His finger signed the waiver without consulting him first. He felt strange, like he was watching himself sign it from above. But only for a moment. Then he was back within himself, and his mind was flying apart.

“Took you long enough.” Robotnik’s eyes flashed and he snatched the tablet out of his hands, walking back toward the monitor. Stone stood stock still, his hands still outstretched in front of him. It felt like he had just signed his life away. Oh, wait. He had. “Now let’s see if your tiny little brain can manage to grasp what this map entails.” Leaning on the desk, Robotnik turned his head and appraised him. “Snap out of it, you moron. Get over here!” 

Still numb, Stone followed him to the monitor, feeling his armor crack just a little bit more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All the thanks in the world to Rooster (cookingwithcyanide here on ao3) for beta reading this!! Go read their fics y’all, their writing is incredible!
> 
> Thanks also to Mackintosh in the Stobotnik server for the description of week-old shredded vegetables in a strainer. I needed the description of something unappealing and boy did he deliver!
> 
> And since I’m on a roll, I also want to thank Kai for being so amazing and supportive all the time. You’re such a joy to talk to!! <3


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the working title for this chapter was "eye of the storm"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> rating has increased to Teen and Up due to some darker themes in this chapter

In the dark, the shapes on the wall twist themselves into demons. They reach out and hover for hours, the dark pits of their eyes ripping him apart as the tears freeze on his face. The knives of their thin, long fingers dig in, cold as ice in his lungs. He falls asleep. His dreams are filled with shadowy figures with hollow eyes clutching frigid daggers that dripped with blood. The guilt never disappears.

\---

Turns out, designing and producing hyper-efficient high-tech drones was  _ not  _ Dr. Robotnik’s main job description. Stone tried to be surprised, but he really wasn’t. There had always been whispers, the shadiest side of the rumors that had buzzed about the doctor, that he had his hands in everything. That with a flick of one of his gloved hands, he could make or break a country, save or end the world.

They weren’t completely wrong.

In point of fact, Dr. Robotnik was the U.S. government’s ace in the hole. Any situation too hard or too delicate for the feds to deal with through normal channels, they called up the doctor.

And that led Stone to this lovely island of Mykonos, Greece, where white sands and azul water crashed in waves against the shore. The city boasted many shops, each housed within buildings painted bright white with blue patterns laced around the outside. Stone would have loved to peruse a jewelry shop or buy a t-shirt, but the moment the ferry landed, the doctor was off like a shot.

They had been briefed on the plane. Or, rather, Robotnik had flipped the aide off and gone to the back of the plane to listen to music while Stone was briefed. Then Stone went to the back to give him the short version.

They were to find and eliminate a group of gun smugglers, who were pouring unmarked assault rifles into Europe. The police in Greece had identified the port the ghost guns passed through, but their efforts to shut down the shipments had only led to the smugglers finding darker, deeper holes to hide in. Not willing to let the world stage know they had failed, they contacted the United States, where their request was passed off and ignored by various agencies until it had reached the shadowy one that Stone and Dr. Robotnik worked for. The top officials had seen the request, looked at each other, shrugged, and handed it off to Robotnik’s department.

“Oho! Finding smugglers who’ve gone underground, eh?” Robotnik gave a dark grin, the promise of danger lighting up his eyes. “Their mistake, Agent Stone. When they come up for sunlight, my badniks will be waiting for them.

They were to wipe them off the map quickly and quietly. Complete secrecy was a must, as the government wanted no questions, no news reports, no scandals. It was strange, Stone thought, being part of a mission that would never be discussed. That wasn't meant to be discussed. They were judge, jury, and executioner, with no accountability. People would die, and no one would know.

Before they could get to work, there were the meetings. At least fifteen meetings, which dragged on for many hours more than necessary. The doctor was not impressed. The only entertainment Stone had over the next forty-eight hours was watching Robotnik blow up at nearly thirty CIA members, seven undercover agents who were reporting in, and each member of the Greek criminal investigation team, who had come down from Athens to share all the information they had on the smugglers.

Despite his bad temper, the doctor seemed to absorb information from these meetings like a particularly angry sponge. Once the annoyances had cleared the room and just Robotnik and Stone remained, the doctor would come alive, suddenly bright as fire, snapping out the most important points from the meeting into a secure voice recorder and using the newest intel to narrow down the location of the smugglers.

It took less than a week to pinpoint them. They had hidden themselves well, but even the best could not escape Robotnik. Between the doctor's brilliance and the capabilities of his badniks, there was no place on Earth the smugglers would have been able to hide. 

"I've got them, Agent Stone.” Robotnik clapped his hands together, pushing himself suddenly back from his desk. “They've nowhere to run! How… unfortunate for them that they chose to hide there. See that building? There's only two exits, both at the front. They've practically signed their death warrant!" Grinning gleefully, the doctor took a celebratory swig of his latte. “We'll hit them tonight, Stone, before they can think. Before they can run! There's a storm coming, but they'll be the last to know."

Stone glanced at his tablet, his stomach lending him a quiet uneasiness. The weather promised heavy rain tonight. There was no turning back.

\--

One afternoon, Stone convinced the doctor to take a break and accompany him down to the little shops with the bright blue signage and their touristy knickknacks. Stone relished the figurines of gods, goddesses, and animals in the windows, the handmade purses and shoes displayed outside the shop doors.

Robotnik was not as intrigued, impatient as Stone lingered, frequently studying the sky and tapping his foot against the cobblestones. His mustache twitched every so often, mouth curling down as Stone nearly pressed his nose into the windows. 

Of all the stores, Stone loved the craft shops the most. The eclectic ones with intricate wood carvings and colorful paintings. Upon spotting one, he was able to drag the doctor in with him, promising that yes, this would be the only store they’d step foot in and no, it wouldn’t take more than five minutes. Something about simply taking a moment to appreciate the work of another’s hands pressed a gentle peace onto Stone’s heart, and with the weight of this job pressing down on him, he needed the relief now more than ever.

While Robotnik huffed angrily in the doorway, Stone stepped further into the shop, taking in the beautiful crafts. To his right was a painted stone carving of an owl, incredibly life-like. The artist had rendered a sharp light in its eyes, as if it had just spotted its prey, and the feathers of its wings were puffed up in anticipation of flight. It was incredible, the life sculptors could breathe into their creations.

Stone’s eyes slipped past the sculptures to a smaller pottery section near the back of the shop, illuminated by a few rays of light that slanted their way into the store through the windows. His gaze immediately fell on the centerpiece of the collection, his mouth opening slightly in awe. 

Depicted in a piece of pottery small enough to be held in his hands was an wonderfully detailed rendering of a small ship, sails blown out in a stiff wind, teetering between an immense whirlpool and a horrible six-headed monster whose feet clutched onto a rock as it stretched its necks towards the ship. Robotnik reluctantly came to stand next to him, regarding the pottery with bored eyes. He followed Stone’s line of sight.

“Scylla and Charybdis,” Robotnik remarked. “Did you ever read the Odyssey?”

“Only once, back in high school. We all took turns reading sections aloud.” Stone’s hand reached out and gently picked up the sculpture, admiring the intricate scale patterns of Scylla and the violent whorls of Charybdis. “When ships would pass between the two sisters, they would press closely against Scylla’s rock to avoid the rough, churning waves of Charybdis. Just when the sailors were safe from the treacherous waters, Scylla’s heads would come down from above and devour them. Sailing through that pass was to choose between two deadly evils.”

Robotnik was silent as Stone turned the pottery over gently in his hands. Stuck to the bottom on a thin white rectangle was the price of the artwork. Stone inhaled sharply, and put the sculpture down. He turned to Robotnik, who was looking at him curiously. He gave the doctor a wan smile.

“Too rich for my blood.”

Stone left the store. He didn’t think much of it when Robotnik took his time catching up to him, rejoining him at a store window about a block away. As he looked at colorful hats and admired beautiful jewelry, Stone’s mind kept wandering back to the delicate rendering of the small ship trapped between evils too horrifying to comprehend, and his heart ached in sympathy.

\--

This was by far the worst lightning storm that Stone had witnessed in a long time. Each strike caught onto his nerves, the thunder shaking the foundations of the building. They were holed up about five hundred yards from the smugglers' den in a rickety little building that shook in the wind. It was a miracle that the computers were still connected to the electricity given the dubious quality of the wall outlets.

Despite the turbulence outside, the doctor was hyper-focused. Neither the bright flashes of lighting nor the crashes of thunder made him so much as blink. Stone took strength from his unflappable calm. It was all he could do.

In a smooth voice, Robotnik began the countdown. On the computer screen, the live feed from the badniks sputtered to life. The smugglers' shack was illuminated on the screen, seemingly dark and devoid of life. Against his will, Stone pictured the smugglers inside the rickety building. Perhaps they were gathered around a table, playing cards by candlelight. Maybe they were asleep, and one was shivering in their bed, afraid of the thunder, but even more afraid to admit it. Maybe two sat close together, whispering secrets in the dead of night, reminiscing about the family they had left at home, hoping to see their children soon. Maybe...

The pounding rain calmed for a moment; the wind went quiet. Stone held his breath. On the screen, the badniks swooped in, their white frames silhouetted by the moon before vanishing through window frames with a distant crash and tinkle of broken glass hitting pavement. 

For a moment, there was silence, like standing in the eye of a hurricane, looking up at the distant blue sky framed by deadly swirling gray, watching the wall of the hurricane churn and churn and churn. Slowly the wall approaches, but at that instant it seems as though it will never arrive, as if one could sit there forever in that fragile border between serenity and horror, and nothing would ever hurt, ever again. For one moment, nothing matters but the crystal blue of the sky, and in that moment is an eternity of peace.

The rush of the rain crashed down again, and the howl of the wind came back stronger than before. In the same moment, the dark windows were illuminated by a bright flash of light which exploded outwards, bright tendrils of fire arcing out of the shack towards the tempestuous sky. One voice screamed out, and a figure emerged flaming from the building, staggering several steps before collapsing just outside the door, eerily silent as the rain extinguished the dancing flames. Stone let out his breath, but not in relief. As the other agents moved in to secure the building, the wood and metal within were groaning and shrieking from the heat. Stone stayed with the doctor and watched the rain wash it all away. 

_ Is this justice?  _ Stone thought, horror rising in his throat. The hurricane was all around him now, but the rain would not wash him clean.

\---

Stone slipped quietly through the door to the doctor's mobile lab, carrying two hot lattes. The steam curled slowly through the holes on the lids as he set them down on the table next to the door. Robotnik was facing away from him, typing something complicated onto the wide computer monitor. Behind all the unnecessarily obscure words, Stone could tell that it was a report. Successful mission was the jist of the paragraph plastered in front of his eyes.

Successful. That's one word for it.

"I'm not sure if I'm right for this job." The words came out of his mouth before he could think them through.

Robotnik stopped typing, and the lab was quiet for several moments. Then, carefully, still facing the monitor, "Did you bring the lattes?"

Stone gave a soft noise of affirmation and turned to grab the doctor's latte from the table. When he turned back around, the doctor had gotten up from his chair and was looking at him with a slight frown on his face, his eyes either filled with disappointment or concern. It was probably the former, Stone was sure.

When offered the latte, the doctor took it but did not drink. The silence stretched out too long for comfort, so Stone filled it with words.

"I thought I was prepared for this. Arms smugglers, they're bad people, right? So we get rid of them. Maybe no one knows we did it, but we're helping the world, taking dangerous people and their illegal operations out of the picture. No glory for us but the safety of uncountable people. I thought I would feel happy. I thought…"

Stone trailed off. Robotnik had not moved or drank any of his latte, but now his brow was a bit more furrowed. Stone dropped his gaze to the floor. He had seen that expression too many times, usually right before a volcanic tirade at some unsuspecting government employee. He braced himself for impact.

“You may be too soft for this job, Stone.” Robotnik’s voice was much less angry than he had suspected, and Stone glanced up at him in surprise. His face was pinched in what seemed like a very unpracticed attempt at looking sympathetic. “But I didn’t ask for you to work with me because you seemed like a hardened killer. I requested you because you make a good latte.” The doctor took a pointed sip of his drink, and Stone vacillated between feeling insulted or relieved.

“Thank you?” Stone managed, but the doctor steamrolled over him as if his words were being pulled out of him against his will.

“I also find you much more competent, and far better at summarizing those stupid briefings, than any other agent I have previously worked with, and I would be-” Robotnik grimaced as if the words nauseated him. “-disappointed if you were to choose to be reassigned.”

Stone did his best not to gape at him. “I-. Well, sir, I appreciate it, but I’m not- I’m not sure if I can handle more missions like this. Killing people like this, like vigilantes. With what feels like zero accountability to any laws or the government, I- I don’t feel like this is right.”

“It’s probably not.” Robotnik said simply. “In fact, it’s almost certainly not. Does that make you feel any better?”

“No?” Stone’s tone was incredulous.

“Hm.”

Stone had to turn as Robotnik walked past him, heading for the sleek black chairs next to his computer. The doctor swung himself into a chair and leaned back, steepling his fingers like some cartoon supervillain.

“Don’t just stand there,” Robotnik gestured at the chair nearest to him. 

Startled, Stone hurried over and sat down. For a long moment, they simply stared at each other. Looking at the doctor, Stone felt deep regret at his pending reassignment. Distasteful work or not, he would never get another opportunity to work with someone so incredibly brilliant. The doctor’s mind worked in ways he had barely begun to understand, and the sheer artistry with which Robotnik designed and coded his machines amazed him. There was so much he had hoped to learn.

Suddenly, the doctor leaned forward, elbows on his knees and hands clasped in front of him. “Look, this job isn’t going to get any more pleasant. We get sent off on this kind of thing all the time. Putting down coups and revolutions, assassinating people deemed troublesome by our superiors, quiet, deadly, and morally questionable work like what we did today. Asking you to stay is a tall order, and you would be completely within reason to refuse.” Robotnik pressed himself back into his chair again, looking at him intently. “I’m asking anyway. The work is reprehensible. I would ask that you trust me, and that you stay.”

Stone was silent for a long time. After his declaration, Robotnik had looked down at his hands, a strangely humbling posture for such an arrogant man. Stone studied him as the doctor studied his fingernails and shifted uncomfortably in his chair.

Finally, Stone murmured into the quiet, “You want me to stay.” Robotnik looked up, looking caught. “For you, not for the work that we do. To ignore the terrible crimes we will inevitably commit out of the public eye, just because you prefer working with me than with some other agent.”

Robotnik’s mouth was fixed in a tight frown, radiating annoyance. “Yes,” He said tersely.

“Okay.” Stone’s mouth would be the death of him. It had spoken before he was ready, but he knew it’s what he would have said. As soon as the word came out, Stone knew it was the only answer available to him. This man had far too great of an influence on him, and there was no turning back.

“Okay?” The doctor repeated back to him faintly, looking shocked.

“Okay.”

Stone stood abruptly and moved toward the door. As he reached for the handle, he looked back at Robotnik, who was still blinking at him from his chair. Stone blinked back at him, feeling as off-kilter as the doctor looked, and then opened the door. He stepped into the bright sunshine of beautiful Mykonos and left whatever that conversation had been in the lab, the door swinging shut behind him.

In the harsh artificial light of the monitors and LED lighting fixtures, Robotnik stayed in his chair looking at the table by the door, contemplating Stone’s forgotten latte for much longer than was necessary.

\--

That night, there was a black box on Stone’s bedside table, about the size of a shoe box. Delicate silver designs swirled intricately in the dark felt. Approaching it, he half-heartedly weighed the possibility of it being a bomb before picking it up.

He loosened a small gold clasp and opened the lid. Within, surrounded by crinkled silver wrapping paper were two pottery sculptures. Stone covered his mouth with his hand as he recognized the expensive rendering of Scylla and Charybdis he had so openly admired in the craft shop. He picked it up gently out of the wrapping and ran his fingers over the scales of Scylla, the harsh waves of Charybdis, and the taut sail of Odysseus’s ship before turning his attention to the other sculpture. 

It must have come from the same shop, but he hadn’t noticed it during his visit. If possible, this one was even more beautiful. Two figures were carved delicately into the clay, one half-submerged in water, clinging with all his might to the remnants of a boat. He was reaching up to the other figure, who was carefully wrapping a scarf around his neck. The scarf was tousled by some harsh wind, and the sea surrounding the man was treacherous, but the sculpture emanated an immense peace. Stone’s heart gave a soft jolt as he remembered the mythology, when the goddess Ino saved Odysseus from Poseidon’s deadly storm with one simple gift. A scarf that would prevent him from drowning.

Who else but Robotnik could have known that he had admired the pottery in that shop? He clutched the sculpture of Ino and Odysseus close to his chest, feeling the storm inside calm and the malevolent waves toss him out onto more pleasant shores. He laid down to rest still holding the pottery close, feeling its slight weight press against his heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you all so much for being patient with me! i struggle a lot with procrastination, so I am so very pleased to be able to offer you this third chapter. all the thanks in the world to my peeps in the stobotnik server for inspiring me to keep writing
> 
> special thanks to Lz, whose comments and support really helped me perfect this chapter! and as always, thank you to Rooster, whose own mastery of prose is what I aspire to, and who gave me the inspiration for the pottery and Greek mythology references

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed reading! Kudos and comments are greatly appreciated and really make my day! (✿◠‿◠)
> 
> Yell at me about stobotnik on my [Tumblr](https://thedocthinksyourebasic.tumblr.com/)


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